“All fare alike, old sulky face! Not for me, I thank you. I would not work for a discontented windbag like you. What’s your particular grumble just now?” “I’m not grumbling.” “Not at all, you are saying what a happy life it is, and how glad you are to see your fellow creatures enjoying themselves.” Thomas lifted a stone and threw it, but Silas jumped aside and it flew down the rocks. “I’m not grumbling so much at the Mowbrays, but at that Gillespie-wench. There have always been Mowbrays up there; but that wench, she has nothing of her own, why should she not addle her bread the same as you or I. One day she had the impertinence to start ordering me about and made old Edward and myself look a pair of fools. The old ass did not mind, but I did and I am not going to forget. I am sick of these craven villagers louting[15] and curtseying at the minx and she no better than any of us. She gets on my nerves, pardy! with her pretty angel face.” [15] The earlier form of curtsey. “Well, I am glad you admit you are grumbling at something, but you have less cause to grumble at Mistress Aline than any one in Holwick, you graceless loon. So here’s something else to grumble at”; and Silas gave Thomas a sudden push which made him roll over, and then he ran off laughing. “You unneighbourly ruffian. I’ll pay you out,” said Thomas, as he ruefully picked himself up and started down the steep. He went on to the hamlet and, on his way back, he met Aline, who was going down to see Joan Moulton. Beyond all expectations, by getting Audry to sue for her, Aline had arranged that Joan should be moved to Durham and she was going to pay her last visit. “It’s a fine day, Mistress Aline,” observed Thomas as he reached her. “I hope you are keeping well. The falcon is doing splendidly, I notice. I shall never forget your kindness to me. By the way, I found some white heather the other day, and I meant to tell you I took up the root and transplanted it in your garden.” “Oh, was that you, Thomas? You are good; I noticed it at once, but somehow I thought it was Mistress Audry’s doings. I love white heather.” “I am fain it pleaseth you; well, good day, Mistress Aline, there is no time to waste and some of us have to work very hard betimes.” On the way up to the Hall, just before he reached the crags of the ravine he saw some one else. It was old “Moll o’ the graves.” “How now, neighbour,” he said, “I have not seen you for a long time, but what’s the good of your hocus pocus? Where’s that fine hank of wool I gave you, and those two cheeses and the boll of meal? That Gillespie bitch is still running round; and you said that before a year was away she would be gone. But Andrew’s little play didn’t work, damn the fellow. She’s alive yet, I tell you,” and he put his hand on the old woman’s shoulder as though to shake her.